“The water is not nice,” he replied, his voice rising like a ghost’s out of the dark depth. “There are sick lizards, and a dead bird that stinks. And there may be snakes. It is well worth ten pesos extra what I must do.” “We will drown you!” Rafael shouted. “I shall shoot down upon you and kill you!” the Jefe bullied. “Shoot or drown me,” Guillermo’s voice floated up; “but it will buy you nothing, for the treasure will still be in the well.” There was a pause, in which those at the surface questioned each other with their eyes as to what they should do. “And the Gringos are running away farther and farther,” Torres fumed. “A fine discipline you have, Senor Mariano Vercara è Hijos, over your gendarmes!” “This is not San Antonio,” the Jefe flared back. “This is the bush of Juchitan. My dogs are good dogs in San Antonio. In the bush they must be handled gently, else may they become wild dogs, and what then will happen to you and me?” “It is the curse of gold,” Torres surrendered sadly. “It is almost enough to make one become a socialist, with a Gringo thus tying the hands of justice with ropes of gold.” “Of silver,” the Jefe corrected. “You go to hell,” said Torres. “As you have pointed out, this is not San Antonio but the bush of Juchitan, and here I may well tell you to go to hell. Why should you and I quarrel because of your bad temper, when our prosperity depends on standing together?” “Besides,” the voice of Guillermo drifted up, “the water is not two feet deep. You cannot drown me in it. I have just felt the bottom and I have four round silver pesos in my hand right now. The bottom is carpeted with pesos. Do you want to let go? Or do I get ten pesos extra for the filthy job? The water stinks like a fresh graveyard.” “Yes! Yes!” they shouted down. “Which? Let go? Or the extra ten?” “The extra ten!” they chorused. “In God’s name, haste! haste!” cried the Jefe. They heard splashings and curses from the bottom of the well, and, from the lightening of the strain on the riata, knew that Guillermo had left the bucket and was floundering for the coin. “Put it in the bucket, good Guillermo,” Rafael called down. “I am putting it in my pockets,” up came the reply. “Did I put it in the bucket you might haul it up first and well forget to haul me up afterward.” “The double weight might break the riata,” Rafael cautioned. “The riata may not be so strong as my will, for my will in this matter is most strong,” said Guillermo. “If the riata should break ...” Rafael began again. “I have a solution,” said Guillermo. “Do you come down. Then shall I go up first. Second, the treasure shall go up in the bucket. And, third and last, shall you go up. Thus will justice be triumphant.” Rafael, with dropped jaw of dismay, did not reply. “Are you coming, Rafael?” “No,” he answered. “Put all the silver in your pockets and come up together with it.” “I could curse the race that bore me,” was the impatient observation of the Jefe.